Dia del Idioma

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February 23 & 24 at El Camino Academy
We celebrated “Language Day” – two days filled with skits, folk dances, and songs honoring Colombian heritage and the Spanish language. Beautiful colors splashed over everyone; smiles and laughter from the littlest pre-Kinders to the oldest high-schoolers and even the teaching staff. A delightfully fun day!

SuperBowl party… without the Super Bowl

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O.k., it was a spur-of-the-moment decision… and we said whoever wants to come, come. And who would have thought we could fit 23 people in a space maxed out at 8? Yes, I know it’s about a month and a half late, but we had a good time… and I wanted to share the pictures. I think we saw about a quarter of football … internet faultiness don’t you know.

December and Home

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Christmas at home … time with our kids, driving a car again, a brother’s wedding, stocking up for the field, familiarity, family … good times.

Get on the bus!

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O.k… it wasn’t this bus exactly, but close enough …

Riding public transportation can be challenging on so many levels: How long will we have to wait before the right bus will come along? How will we and 77 other people fit onto a bus that should only hold 30? How will we get all the way on the bus before the driver takes off and closes the door on our behinds… or leaves us hanging white-knuckled onto the hand rails, more outside than in? How will we make sure all of our personal belongings are hidden well enough that the regular pick-pocketers and petty thieves won’t be able to make off with our treasures? How will we keep our breakfast down when our reckless, daring bus driver decides his 60-year-old rattletrap is a souped-up NASCAR and he should try taking that Autopista U-turn at about 45 miles an hour? How we will get said driver to actually stop at the spot that we need to get off instead of careening another block and a half down the road … going the opposite way of the one-way direction posted??  And don’t even get me started on the feeling of the bounce as we progress along cratered roads, the nightmare of germophobic proportions that it  is to have to hang onto metal bars that literally hundreds of thousands have touched before us, and the incredible un-American encroachment upon our own little space bubbles!

So why do we ride the bus anyway?  Oh, yeah, that’s right… we don’t have a vehicle of our own.

That brings me to this morning.  We wait for 20 minutes to catch a bus to church. Several of us from ECA happened to meet at the bottom of the pedestrian bridge over the Autopista (highway), thinking safety in numbers I suppose. As the six of us scramble into our luxurious Blue Bird bus (circa 1959) with its red & white, multi-dented, scratched up exterior, grime covered windows, slightly padded aqua-colored bench seats spaciously providing room for about one and a half people per seat, we know from the herky-jerky start that it will be a delightful ride.

We each slide as quickly as we can into a seat that isn’t already occupied and hold on for dear life to the overhead bars.  Another NASCAR wannabe! We cast knowing glances at each other… oh, yes, we’ve done this before… he stomps on the gas, we lose our balance falling backward; he shifts, we fall forward; he hits the gas again and changes lanes, we fall sideways… The Colombian riders are much more adept at holding themselves in their seats or upright by the hand-bars, but even they seem a little put out by our impetuous driver. Group by group they make their way to the back to notify him of their need to get off at the next stop-on-demand – there’s a little button by the back door one presses when one wants to disembark.  It beeps somewhere up front.  Beep! Beep! Beep! … Beeeeep! Beeeeep! …. “SENOR!!” …  Urrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Hang on for dear life!!… he screeches to a halt and each person waiting to get off, fairly flies out the door.

Finally, two elderly women come toward the back… I’m thinking, “Oh, please, look in your rearview mirror, Mr. NASCAR.  We really don’t want broken hips back here!”  As he once again screeches to a halt, the second woman looks at us six gringos in the back, shaking her head she says in nearly-perfect English, “I am so so sorry you had to get on this bus.  This is not a good bus. Terrible. Terrible.  This is NOT Colombia!”

Well… it IS Colombia, but, dear lady in the over-sized sunglasses, we thank you for reminding us that it is not ALWAYS Colombia.

Rehoboth

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“The Lord has given us room and we will flourish in the land.” Gen. 26:22

I am always amazed by the right-in-the-moment quality of God’s Word.  I don’t know why after this many years I should be, but I am.  Last Saturday in my quiet time I came across a story in Genesis that truly moved me.  I know I have read this story many times before, but this day I saw it with fresh eyes.

I picked up the story of Isaac in Genesis 26 when he was living among the Philistines. He was prospering; everything he put his hand to was flourishing. He was using the wells his father had dug to water his fields and feed his livestock.  The Philistines became jealous and stopped up the wells.  Abimelech, the leader of the Philistines, told him to leave – he had become too powerful, they didn’t want him around anymore.

So, he moved to a valley called Gerar.  He dug a new well.  But the other herdsman in the valley fought with his herdsmen, so he moved on.  He dug another well.  The herdsmen of Gerar again fought with his herdsmen over that one. So he moved on again… too much livestock, too many herdsmen, not enough space…

He dug a third well.  There was no fight over this one.  “He named it REHOBOTH, saying, ‘Now the Lord has given us room and we will flourish in the land.’”

And my eyes filled with tears.  Something in this story resonates deeply with me because I am living in a place where there is little “room”… For two weeks I had been wrestling with having little space, little time to myself.  It seemed time had been filled to capacity with scheduled or unscheduled interactions, classes, meetings, assignments,
expectations, and events.  Proximity to other individuals remained almost constant through the days and evenings.  At times my whole being just cried out for space… for room… for solitude to breathe, to think, to pray, to be still…

Without space, it is difficult to flourish, to grow, to meditate and take in what God is speaking into my heart.  A gardener does not plant seeds one on top of the other; he spaces them out in orderly rows so they are able to receive water and sun in sufficient quantity to facilitate growth.   Without space, a plant withers, fails to thrive, and never becomes what it was truly meant to be.

So, by faith, I long to hold onto “Rehoboth” – to trust the Lord for room, for space… to receive the nourishment of His Word and His Spirit, to hear His voice in a garden of retreat, to wait in His presence for the quiet that He can bring into the noise and crowded spaces of my days.

Rehoboth.

Loosely translated….

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O.k. I just had to chuckle at this one… On Saturday, several signs from the management of our apartment complex were posted in our building. We thought these might be important… so I took pictures, loaded them on my computer, then used Word to copy and translate the meaning. Direct translations definitely leave something to be desired, but I think I got the gist of them – and this one made me laugh.

Please don't pee in the basement

“For the comfort & safety of all residents, stair wells and other common areas should be kept neat. We want to remind you that the place to store items is in the storage areas and not the basement. Be careful not to drip garbage in the stairwells; do not sweep or shake mats outside; do not urinate in the basement. Thank you very much.”
No problem. :)